Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee and for myself no quiet find. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY MOTHER by FLORENCE R. ANDREWS AT FONT-GEORGES by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE WHOM EARTH HAS TAUGHT: RENEWALS by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS THERE IS AN OLD CITY by KARL BULCKE A SPENDTHRIFT by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON ELEGIACS: 1 by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH SURVIVAL by FLORENCE EARLE COATES LOOKING ON, AND DISCOURSING WITH HIS MISTRESS by ABRAHAM COWLEY |